


Ringing Pavlov's Bell

by missmollyetc



Series: Six Ways of Learning How to Kiss [2]
Category: Hockey RPF, Sports RPF
Genre: Edmonton Oilers, Hockey Players-Canada, Hockey Players-Men, M/M, National Hockey League
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-20
Updated: 2012-11-20
Packaged: 2017-11-19 03:46:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/568735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missmollyetc/pseuds/missmollyetc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Somewhere between the couch and the bed, Taylor had sort of forgotten the point he'd been trying to make.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ringing Pavlov's Bell

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [](http://shihadchick.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**shihadchick**](http://shihadchick.dreamwidth.org/) for beta-ing, and her endless patience. Title taken from [Aimee Mann](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Dr08SIHELV8). Part Two of [Six Ways of Learning How to Kiss](http://archiveofourown.org/series/29709)

He woke up half-way off the bed, with his head pointed towards the doorway and his right arm hanging out into space, pins and needles pricking underneath his nails. Taylor raised his head up out of the comforter, and smacked his lips, grimacing as he ran his tongue over the front of his teeth. His mouth tasted like rotten cotton. He flopped over onto his back, and swallowed a groan as his right arm woke up with a howl. He squeezed his eyes shut, and shook his arm out until the muscles loosened, and then let it drop down to the mattress.

He rubbed the heel of his left hand up and down the side of his face, and scraped crud out of the corners of his eyes. The bed felt cold all around him, like he'd been the only one in it for a while. He glanced at the blinds, still drawn, and then back towards the connecting bathroom. The door was open, but the lights were off; a wet towel hung off the door handle. Taylor sat up higher, wrapping his arms around his knees. He picked at a thread working its way loose from Ebs' comforter, and wound the fuzzy end around his finger.

"Ebs?" he called out. He tilted his head towards the hallway door, but couldn't hear anything. A hollow space bubbled up in his stomach. "Ebs?" he yelled a little louder. Taylor brought his knees into his chest. "Hey—" he coughed. "Hey!"

He waited, counting out his heartbeat like the pauses in a storm. The thread around his finger snapped free.

"Out here!" Ebs yelled back, finally.

He sounded like he was in the living room. Taylor swung around, sitting up and putting both feet to the floor; the comforter slid down and off his lap, falling between his thighs. He braced himself on his knees to stand up, head falling forward, and caught sight of the flaking mess on his stomach. Heat bloomed at the base of his skull, unfolding around the sides of his neck. He sat back down, and looked out the doorway; he could just see his crumpled jeans outside in the hall.

Holy crap. Holy _fucking shit,_ he’d jerked Ebs off. He swallowed. He felt the weirdest urge to check under Ebs' bed for beer cans, but they hadn't been drunk, they'd just been...staying up really late nowadays. Because Ebs was gonna leave for OKC any day and Taylor had wanted Ebs for so long. He'd stuck through two girlfriends and sixteen hookups and last night it’d just felt like…enough on top of the lockout, so he'd...

Did he have to thank Gary Bettman for getting him a boyfriend?

Taylor shook his head until that image left his brain, and stood up. He didn’t even really know if he had a boyfriend, he’d had enough handjobs to know better than just think that way. Taylor needed a shower and a bucket of coffee, and then they’d…talk. Jesus. Greasy didn't even begin to cover the way he felt, but he only made it to the threshold of the door before he felt the blush lurking at the base of his neck blast its way up his face. He was fucking walking around with his dick hanging out. He looked down at his stomach again, the silvery trails of dried...stuff all over him, splashed across the red mark near his belly button. His jeans were just outside the doorway, all he had to do was reach for them. Taylor brushed his thumb against the mark, and pressed down on its center. He shuddered, eyelids sinking low, and spread his hand out on his hip. No one but Ebs was even in the apartment.

Right. He took the fastest shower he could, scrubbing up before the water even got a chance to get hot, and used Ebs' toothbrush instead of going and getting his own. He bounced on his toes, shaking water out of his ears. The water had pounded energy back into his muscles. He’d heard a crowd cheering down the hall; Ebs must have turned on the TV. Obviously there was nothing to worry about; a one hundred percent lack of weirdness. He nodded at himself in Ebs' bathroom mirror, hair plastered to his forehead, and then strode outside, kicking the covers he'd dropped to the floor out of his way.

He grabbed his jeans up from the floor and hopped down the hallway on his right leg, and then his left. He stopped where the hall opened up into the living room, leaning on the wall to do up his fly. Something clacked sharply in front of him, and Taylor looked up.

Ebs was standing behind the breakfast bar, a bowl of cereal in front of him. He held a glass of orange juice in his left hand, which was dripping down his fingers and onto the table. He was wearing Taylor's shirt, a little baggy around the shoulders, and he hadn't shaved. Tufts of brown hair stood up all over his head. Taylor licked his lips. He felt his chin dip, mouth opening and closing on less and less air, and looked down at his hands, fumbling the button of his jeans through the opposite hole.

"Hi," he said, towards his feet.

"Hey," Ebs said. He cleared his throat.

It wasn't supposed to be weird. It was _not_ supposed to be weird. Staring at his own crotch was getting really fucking weird. Taylor looked up, breathing in deeply, and crossed his arms over his bare chest. Ebs blinked at him, and then sort of shook himself, and put down his glass.

"I made you breakfast," he said, eyes flickering up and down. He pushed the milk pitcher in between the two bowls on the bar.

Taylor straightened his shoulders. He grinned. “Yeah?”

Ebs swallowed, front teeth biting down into his lower lip. He nodded, and Taylor walked forward. This was great, no problems at all. They were gonna be fine, they were…gonna have to sit next to each other to eat breakfast, like they always did. Fuck, how did you sit next to someone after they’d sucked you off _and_ , like, lived with you? He bumped the bar stool with his hip and stopped moving. Something happened on the TV behind him, the crowd roared. Taylor looked over his shoulder. Some tiny guy in red and blue was jumping around on a field.

“You’re watching Sportsnet?” he asked. Did Ebs—well, he had caught the UFC with Taylor all the time the morning after he’d hooked up with some chick, but he’d at least waited for Taylor to wake up first.

“You wouldn’t wake up,” Ebs said.

Taylor turned his head around, and flinched back. Ebs had sat down on his own stool at the breakfast bar, just—just sitting there with his own bowl of cereal and a cup of coffee. He dipped his spoon into his bowl, and jammed a heap of Shreddies into his mouth. He stared across the breakfast bar, crunching loudly. Taylor inched down, sliding onto his own stool, and picked up his spoon. He glanced left, trying to watch Ebs out of the corner of his eye, and caught Ebs watching him right back.

They both froze. Taylor bit his lips together, watching Ebs turn bright red, and then they broke away at the same time. His entire left side felt like it was asleep, a layer of numbness lying over hot, electric sparks. Taylor’s stomach tensed, gurgling at him.

Ebs giggled through his nose. Taylor looked over at him, mouth falling open. What the fuck, was it his fault his stomach made noises? He sucked in a breath, drawing himself up, and Ebs put his elbow on the table, resting his chin on his palm to grin at him. Taylor’s stomach turned over again, and he coughed out a laugh.

“Shut up,” he said, smacking Ebs on the arm. “I’m hungry.”

“Then eat, you dumbass,” Ebs said, smacking him right back. He grinned, a bit wider than normal, but Taylor would take it. “I made you a bowl, too. Insert spoon and, like…eat.”

“So greasy,” Taylor muttered, shaking his head. He smiled at Ebs, still feeling the laugh shake in his throat.

“You love it,” Ebs said. He breathed in quickly, and his smile strained at the edges.

Taylor closed his mouth so fast his teeth snapped together. The TV cut to a commercial. His chest felt heavy in one spot, like something was pressing against his collarbones. Ebs dropped his spoon, and half-stood up from the stool.

“I—”

“I thought maybe we’d wake up together,” Taylor said over him.

Ebs fell back onto his seat, staring at him. Taylor lifted his chin. Well, fuck it. You sucked Taylor Hall off after losing at NHL13, then you fucking lived with the consequences. If he was gonna have to be the romantic one, he was going all the fucking way.

“Seriously,” Ebs said. “Like…”

He trailed off, hands swirling in between them, and Taylor swallowed.

“I mean, I mean, yeah,” he said. He leaned forward, pointing with the spoon still in his hand. It dripped milk onto Ebs’ knee. “Because…dude, I let you finish half my KD all the time.”

“That’s because I make the KD,” Ebs said, frowning. “You fucking get the noodles stuck to the pan.”

“I still buy it,” Taylor said, gesturing at the cupboard behind Ebs. Ebs ducked, and snatched the spoon out of his hand. Taylor wrinkled his nose, and waved his hand at him. “It’s a gesture.”

“It’s a what?” Ebs said, bushy eyebrows coming together. He tossed the spoon on the table with a clatter.

“Well, that’s what Whits called it,” he said, looking away to stare into his cereal bowl. He cleared his throat. What the fuck—“What the fuck sort of morning after is this, fucking anyway?” he asked.

He pushed his glass closer to Ebs, smearing a trail of juice across the granite. Ebs stared at him, which was dumb, because coach had made them both sit through the ‘you need vitamins, not KD’ lecture before the post-season. Taylor rubbed his hand down and over his face, trying to cover up the heat burning in the center of his cheeks and under his eyes. He dug his thumb into the knot underneath his jaw until it shuddered apart. When he peeked out from between his fingers, Ebs was still staring.

“The kind you get after betting me a blowjob for winning a video game,” he finally said, cracking his voice at the end.

Taylor smacked the table. “Well, I just thought—I don’t do this all the time, you know!”

“Really? Because the victory dance said otherwise,” Ebs said, rolling his eyes.

“Look, I had to do _something_ , you’re,” Taylor stopped. He closed his mouth, and sucked in air through his nose. His blood pounded at the back of his head.

Ebs raised his eyebrows, leaning forward. His hands settled on his knees, but his fingers kept fidgeting and pinching at the fabric of his sweatpants. The TV noise rose and fell between them; somebody whose team got to play a regular season had scored.

Jesus, this was fucked. Taylor licked his lips, and pressed them together, staring up at the ceiling. A cobweb waved above him, caught in the shaft of light creeping around the edge of the living room curtains. This was the whole fucking problem, because no season meant no practice and no practice meant Taylor had time to think and… He blinked, and suddenly felt like he could breathe again. He exhaled, jumping to his feet, and grabbed Ebs by the shoulders. He bent down, and his lips caught Ebs high on the left corner of his mouth. He fumbled his way to the center, kissing down the seam of Ebs’ lips until Ebs shivered and tilted his chin up. He made a noise, soft and high in the back of his throat, and all the hair on the back of Taylor’s head stood up.

He pulled away, barely a centimeter of space between them, and licked his lips. Ebs panted between them, hot puffs of air hitting Taylor’s chin.

“What do you want?” Ebs asked, thinning his words out with air.

So many words crowded the back of his mouth, Taylor had to lean back and swallow before his throat was clear enough to speak.

“We sucked at this morning,” he said, and squeezed Ebs shoulders to get him to stay sitting.

“Are you seriously fucking telling me—”

“I want to get better at it,” he continued, a little more loudly. He felt his eyes opening wider, staring down at Ebs. “I want to…uh, to practice.”

“Practice,” Ebs repeated.

Taylor nodded. Slowly, watching Ebs watch him, Taylor lowered himself into Ebs’ lap, straddling his left thigh. A flash of heat shuddered up his spine when Ebs’ muscles flexed beneath him. He pressed down, letting some of his weight push his dick into Ebs’ hip. He slid his hands up Ebs’ shoulders and around the back of his neck.

“You suck at mornings after,” he said, and swallowed when Ebs bucked a little beneath him. “And I suck at…like, getting you to date me.”

Ebs face was slowly flushing. He licked his mouth, dragging his tongue across the path Taylor had followed before.

“So we…practice,” he said.

“All the time,” Taylor said, nodding. He took a deep breath; their chests brushed.

Ebs jiggled his leg; his hands settled on Taylor’s waist. He snuck his two first fingers beneath the waistband of Taylor’s jeans, and Taylor’s breath caught in his throat.

“What…what happens when we’re done practicing?” Ebs asked. He kissed the point of Taylor’s chin, and turned his head to suck just underneath his jaw.

Taylor stifled a moan. “Well, it’s like, we never do?”

Ebs laughed against Taylor’s throat, and leaned away. He slid his right hand around and up Taylor’s waist to his chest, and pressed his thumb in the hollow between Taylor’s collarbones. Taylor shivered, tension falling down his chest and into his stomach. He dropped his chin and looked Ebs in the eyes.

“We never stop practicing?” Ebs asked him, smiling a little.

“We’d start sucking again if we did,” Taylor said.

Ebs’ smiled grew until Taylor could feel his own mouth stretching to mimic it. He took a deep breath, and nodded, rubbing his thumbs into the nape of Ebs’ neck.

“Well, let’s fucking get started then,” Ebs said, laughing.

Taylor grinned, already bending towards him. Their mouths met off-center, still open, and their teeth knocked against each other. Taylor leaned back, grimacing, but Ebs’ left hand yanked on his waistband.

“Practice,” he said, and Taylor nodded. Ebs slid his other hand around Taylor’s back, into the space between Taylor’s shoulder blades, and pushed him back down again. He kissed the left corner of Taylor’s mouth and then his bottom lip; the right corner, and then the dip beneath his nose. Taylor’s back hunched; he opened his mouth for Ebs’ tongue and shivered.

“How’s that?” Ebs asked.

“Could—could be a better angle,” Taylor said, and Ebs’ thigh pushed up between his legs, snug against his cock. Taylor shuddered, and dropped his right knee to the bar in between the stool’s legs.

“Or here,” Taylor said. “Here is nice.”

Ebs grinned at him, and held him closer for another kiss.

 

 


End file.
